


Between There and Here

by AKA_47



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon Compliant, Case driven, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24498529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKA_47/pseuds/AKA_47
Summary: When the SVU team gets an interesting case, Olivia is compelled to go undercover to live out the experience of their victim. Once there, she's forced to confront some deeply buried demons with a little help from her squad.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	1. Game On

**Author's Note:**

> So, I used to watch SVU a lot as a kid. Recently, I started binge watching again, and just finished up through season 12. This just sort of happened. The business mentioned is loosely based off the "haunted house" Blackout, and the title and chapter titles randomly come from 2 podcasts, Rabbits and Tanis. 
> 
> I wrote all three parts of this in a rapid, cathartic moment, and I hope you enjoy.

She’s never heard her own breath quite as loudly in her ears as she did in that room, a ragged sound she would swear was hissing from the darkness all around her, were it not for the fact that she could feel her lungs struggle to take the air in. The thrum of her pulse was a pounding in her ears at war with the ringing silence of the room. Abigail wasn’t sure how long she’d been there, minutes, hours, days, were washed away more absolutely than she would have thought possible. Was she even alive? Or was this what happened when your heart stopped? But no. She could still feel it, hear it. She could taste the sweat that balanced on her lip, feel the ache in her wrists as the zip ties dug into soft flesh. If this was death, then it was cruel.

“ _Please_ ,” she begged, not for the first time. Please, what? Please kill me? Please make it stop? Somehow, the idea of asking to be taken away from this hell had evaporated along with light, sound, the outside world.

“You’re ready?” The voice was at her ear. She could feel his lips on her skin, a soft caress so at odds with everything else. With the very idea of him.

“ _No,”_ Abigail whimpered, sweat and tears bitter on her tongue.

The man laughed. “Then we wait.”

But that was a hell she couldn’t imagine, the interminable passage of time with nothing, endless nothing before her.

“Wait!” She called out, straining her eyes to see through a darkness she had no dream of penetrating. “I’m ready. I’m ready.”

She could have no idea what for.

\---

Olivia Benson peered out at the evaporating light outside the precinct’s windows. Not so long ago, she’d been a young woman desperate for freedom, or, not _freedom_ exactly. Her mother had given her plenty of that, because the more her daughter was out of her sight, the happier Sarina was. So, as soon as Olivia had been old enough to understand just what a torture she was to her mother, the _why_ behind the shifting apathy and anger, she’d stayed away. It was the least she could do.

No, Olivia hadn’t been searching for freedom, she’d been waiting for her mother to care. And if not her mother, then someone. It hadn’t taken long for Olivia to realize that she could make boys, men, even, pay attention to her, use words that she pretended meant they cared. They gladly took her away, held her close for a day or two. In the back of her mind, in a space where a little girl still liked to play pretend, Olivia had liked to imagine that her mother worried for her, stayed up, maybe even called the police.

She never did. And whenever Olivia decided to come home, no matter how many days it had been, her mother always acted as though no time had passed. So, Olivia kept yearning for a reality different from her own. But whatever she had been as a teen, however desperate or wild, however much she’d yearned to be kept, cherished in some way, she had always been a wanderer. The streets of Manhattan were home to her more than any apartment could ever be. She’d never been one to crave four walls.

Yet, here she was, in the precinct more often than not, sleeping, eating, showering there, so that when she did go back to her apartment, it felt like a stranger’s dwelling. The precinct may not have been pretty, but the worn desk, the few framed photos, felt more like _her_ than any picture she could put up to decorate the walls of her apartment. She was caged, but there were moments, brief flashes, where this job, the people she worked with, felt more like family than any of the people or places she’d chased in her youth.

So, she half-heartedly complained about missed dates, and no social life, and the terrible coffee, but relished in the work. She was busy, and when Olivia was busy, she didn’t have time to dwell on how many years of searching she’d done, and how little she’d found.

“What’s up?” Elliot asked, feet propped on the corner of his desk, eyes lifted from the legal pad of notes he’d been scanning. Elliot hadn’t had to search. It was almost as if his life had been laid out for him in a perfect line: a dad who was a cop. An early marriage, a stint in the marines, to his rightful place behind a detective’s badge. He had a family to go home to and a home that felt like one, with the clutter of lives lived in it.

Olivia smiled. “Nothing. Just thinking about how much time we spend here.”

Elliot let out an exasperated sigh. “Tell me about it. Pretty soon my kids’ll forget what I look like.”

  
She rolled her eyes. “At least you have someone to forget you.” _Shit._ She hadn’t meant to say it. Her thoughts had pushed the words to her tongue before she’d had a chance to check them. She turned her eyes back to the open file on her desk.

“Hey,” her partner said, impossibly quiet, sweet and concerned. This was who he was, really, behind all the bluster, this was the voice he used with his kids, with victims, with those he wanted to protect. And even the one word was more than she could handle.

“It’s fine,” Olivia said quickly. “It was a joke.”

“Liv…”

“Drop it.”

Elliot held his hands up in mock surrender, but that didn’t stop his eyes from scrutinizing her. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, a small, scared voice spoke from the doorway. “Excuse me. I…”

Elliot’s feet dropped to the floor as he swiveled to face the girl, and Olivia stood from her desk, taking in the hunched frame, the bruised face, the arms crossed tight over the chest as though to hold herself together. The girl didn’t seem to be able to finish, and her eyes remained fixedly on the floor. Olivia rounded the desks and put her hand to the girl’s shoulder. She nearly jumped out of her skin.

“I’m Detective Benson,” she said softly, easing her hand away slowly. She knew the drill, no fast movements, no loud noises, nothing unannounced, unexpected. “Can I help you?

“I…I was raped.”

“Okay.” Olivia said, even though it was anything but, even though, after four years in SVU, she was still sickened by all she saw. Even though the sheer number of times she’d said this, gone through these motions kept her awake at night. It was a kind of torture, but one she endured, because it was nothing compared to what the victims saw, felt, the strength that it took them to even walk through those doors.

“What’s your name?” So many names over the years, each tucked away in some corner of her brain. Each leaving a little scar.

“Abigail.”

“Abigail, why don’t you come with me?”

Wordlessly, Elliot got up to follow.

\---

“ _Exquisite Torture._ Really?” Cragen asked, coming to a stop between the four desks of his best detectives.

Olivia was perched on the corner of her desk, jabbing her pen at the place where she’d written the name that Abigail had given her, the little blue dots of ink were very nearly puncture marks at this point. “That’s what she said, some sort of sick ‘haunted house’ experience.”

“I did a little digging,” Munch piped up, standing to give everyone a view of his computer screen, though since they knew he would be reading his findings from memory any moment, no one bothered to squint in its direction.

“It’s marketed as a sensory deprivation, immersive psychological experience.”

“Yeah,” said Elliot, pouring himself his umpteenth coffee, though it was still early morning. “One where you sign up to be tortured and sexually assaulted.”

Olivia huffed. “No one signs up to be sexually assaulted, Elliot.”

“According to their website, plenty of people do,” Munch argued, ignoring Olivia’s glare. “Listen to this—‘Participants must come alone…you may not speak unless told to do so…you will be restrained and exposed to violent and sexual actions.’ And that’s just some of the stuff on there.”

“That’s just freaky,” intoned Fin, shaking his head.

“Well, no matter what you call it, tying someone down and forcing yourself on them is rape.”

“I don’t know, Liv. These girls sign a waiver basically giving the psychos who work there carte blanche to do whatever they want.” 

Olivia fought the urge to throw her notepad at Munch, tossing it onto the desk beside her instead. “I don’t care what she signed, nothing gave that bastard the right to rape that girl.” She looked at the men all around her. They were good guys, they cared about the victims and despised the perps, but sometimes she could feel her position as the only woman among them so strongly…

“El, you saw her last night,” she looked to her partner for a lifeline, “does that look like a girl who signed up to be tortured.”

Elliot shrugged, bringing the coffee stirrer to his mouth. “She said herself she signed the waiver, Liv.”

Cragen looked between the two of them, could see the gears working in Olivia’s brain, see her revving up for a fight, and he really didn’t need one in his house this early. “Well, we’ve got a victim and a pretty good idea where to find her attacker, so let’s start there and let Alex worry about what she signed. Liv, Elliot, head over to _Exquisite Torture_ and figure out what it’s all about.”

\---

The lobby of _Exquisite Torture_ was nondescript enough. A typical reception desk behind which sat a few 20 somethings in black shirts. _No logo,_ Olivia thought riley, it would be a hard name to explain to passersby, if anyone bothered to pay attention in the middle of Manhattan.

“Welcome,” a flash of blinding white teeth met them as the detectives made their way up to the desk. “How can I help you today?” Olivia felt a flash of fury course through her. Attractive young people at the desk, designed to make you feel safe, excited even, about the prospect of torture.

Olivia let her anger fuel her own smile. “Hi. We heard about the experience from a friend, and we were wondering,” she shot a glance at Elliot, hoping he’d get the hint to play along, “that you could give us some more information?”

  
Elliot looked at her for a second, brows furrowed, before he turned his attention back to the young desk clerk. If he didn’t make them for cops, then he was an idiot, but then again, Elliot had come across a fair few college students in his day who didn’t have much going for them between the ears, in his opinion.

“Of course! My name is Matt, by the way.” He produced a brochure from behind the desk and laid it out for them. “Now, I have to tell you that this is a singular experience, so you’ll have to go in alone. Is that alright?”

Olivia chewed her lip, pretending to consider it before casting a sheepish look over at Matt through her lashes. “I don’t know. Our friend said it was pretty intense.”

Matt nodded knowingly. It was clear he’d been through this before—the hesitation, the sales pitch. “I won’t lie, it can be, but our visitors are extremely satisfied with their experience.” He pointed at a corner of the brochure. “Just look at the testimonials. We all have the desire to be afraid. To be dominated. _Exquisite Torture_ is the perfect outlet for that. Surrender control for a few hours, and I _promise_ you, you’ll feel completely rejuvenated.”

It didn’t escape Elliot’s notice that his eyes were completely on Olivia. He hadn’t spared more than a glance at Elliot since they’d come in, not that he could blame the kid. But it hadn’t escaped Olivia’s notice either, and she reached across the desk to touch Matt’s hand.

She gave a breathless laugh. “I guess I’m a little nervous.”

Elliot put his hand to the small of her back, applying the slightest pressure. _What are you doing?_ It asked, or at least, he hoped it did, because she ignored him.

That laugh. Elliot could only guess that it was the way her laugh filled the room, even breathless as it was, that compelled Matt to step out from behind the desk. “Completely natural. Let me describe it for you, give you an idea. It starts with sensory deprivation. All of the noise around us, the visuals, they’re distractions from the internal. With that stripped away, you’ll be able to truly feel your body’s reactions.” Matt had backed up to the couch in the corner as he spoke, drawing the detectives wordlessly with him.

“Reactions to what, exactly?” Elliot asked.

Matt visibly broke from the spell that Olivia had cast. “To surrender,” he said simply.

Olivia dropped down onto the couch, and Elliot could tell, not from any noise she had made, but by virtue of their years beside one another, backing each other’s plays, that she was irritated with him.

“What would I be surrendering to?” she asked, in a more feminine quaver of a voice than Elliot had ever heard her use, trying to capture Matt’s attention again.

Matt sat down beside her, close enough that their bodies almost touched. “You’ll be tied up,” he said, “someone will come in and stimulate your body, physically…sexually. Visitors report feeling the intensity of the sensations, in the dark, alone. Not even knowing who’s touching them.”

Elliot watched as Matt’s eyes darted to the space between him and Olivia, and it didn’t take much to figure out what he was imagining.

“Those are some pretty vague words, there.” Elliot interrupted the kid’s musings. “What do you mean by stimulate?”

“Ah, well, that’s different for each visitor. Please, review our brochure. Once you’ve had a chance to look at it,” here he placed a hand on Olivia’s knee, “I encourage you to come back.”

It took every ounce of Elliot’s self-control not to grab Olivia by the arm and drag her out of there, and she knew it, it was the only explanation for why she stood up meekly and followed him out without a word.

“What the hell was that?” he yelled, once they were safely out on the busy street.

“Do you think he would’ve given us anything if we’d gone in there as cops?” She was all righteous indignation, but Elliot wasn’t buying it.

“They didn’t give us anything your way! How are we any closer to finding out what happened to Abigail? Remember her? The victim.”

Olivia reeled back as though she’d been slapped, her eyes shining. “ _Remember_ her? She’s…they’re all I think about, Elliot. I close my eyes at night and I see their bruises, I hear them crying, and I see the bastards who raped them get off, over and over. On technicalities, or because the sentences for their crimes are so short that they’re basically useless. We go in this circle and it never ends, and if it wasn’t clear from our little debate this morning,” she shot daggers at him, making it abundantly clear she still hadn’t forgiven him for his comments, “this one’s gonna be an uphill climb. So, yeah, I want to make damn sure we’ve got our shit together.”

Elliot sighed, already having forgiven her. He stepped into the street and to the driver’s side door. He had it open before she had made a move to her own door.

“So, what’s your play?”

Even though he knew already, hated it already.

“I wanna go in there.”

And because he had her back, always, all he said was, “How do we pitch this to Cragen?”


	2. Strange Attractors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia goes under cover in Exquisite Torture and confronts some personal demons along the way.

“What happened to interviewing the suspects? Re-interviewing the victim? You know, police work?” Cragen looked sternly at the two detectives from behind his desk.

Elliot stood with his back to the door, hands behind his back, Olivia sat beside him on the table by the window, arms folded. “Look, Cap, you know as well as I do that the jury is gonna hear about the waiver and our vic’s character gets shot to hell. They’re not gonna convict unless we can make them see what she went through.”

Sometimes, these two really made him want to take up drinking again. “And we couldn’t do that by finding some of these ‘customers’?”

Olivia picked up the file she’d just put together from where it lay next to her. Flicking through the pages with more intensity than was strictly necessary. “All we have are a series of glowing reviews about how _freeing_ the experience was. Just a lot of bullshit we’d have to sift through before we’d even get close to convicting these people.”

“For a torture house?”

Elliot brought his hands to his pockets, shrugging. “We’ve seen our fair share of freak shows.”

“So, how is sending Olivia in there going to help us?” He didn’t like it. He’d read the vic’s statement and looked at what Munch had found from the website. And he knew Olivia, knew how she pushed herself until there was nothing left to give, and then managed to give some more. There was no telling what she’d force herself to endure.

“A detective on the stand?” Olivia said, getting up and crossing to his desk. “A reliable witness who can say _exactly_ ,” she punctuated the word by stabbing her finger down on the wood “what these sick bastards do. They’ll hang in the court of public opinion before we ever get a ruling.”

Cragen sighed. He knew that gleam in her eye. If he said no, she would go in anyway, no back up, no security measures. And Elliot would follow, of course. Then there would be the shitstorm from IAB, the inevitable legal fallout. He could play the whole scenario out in his mind in a second.

“You wear a wire,” he said as forcefully as he could muster while caving in to her wishes. “And there’s backup seconds away.”

Olivia didn’t smile exactly, more of a triumphant grin. “Thanks, Cap’n,” she said as she spun back toward the door.

“Make sure I don’t regret this,” Cragen pointed at Elliot once Olivia had left the office.

Elliot smirked. “I’ll do my best.”

\---

She was crawling through mud, the sludge sticking to her palms, her pants, threatening to keep her there, in the tunnel, forever stuck between the outside world and this hell. There was no sense of ending or beginning, only blackness. Each painful inch forward knocked a little of Olivia’s certainty away. As the sweat stung her eyes ( _Jeez, is it 100 degrees in here?_ ), angry tears began to slide down her cheeks, and she couldn’t be entirely certain that they were from the irritation. She was surrounded by retellings of rape and torture every day, all too aware of the statistics which said it could happen to her, despite her gun, despite her badge, despite her training.

She’d lived with the consequences of rape as a child, had both lived with them and been one of them. She knew better than most what that sort of violation could do to a woman. And she had volunteered. Because she couldn’t save her mother, because try as she might, she couldn’t save the women who walked into her unit every day, and told their stories in halting voices. She believed what she told them, that confronting your attacker could bring some peace, that getting counseling was important in the healing process, but how many of them never went? Never got justice? Or did both of those things, but still couldn’t sleep at night.

She couldn’t save them. And sometimes, on those sleepless nights, when the weight of her job rested so heavily on her shoulders that she felt she was suffocating in it, Olivia looked at the totality of her life and felt she’d done more harm than good. A mistake from the beginning. On the rare occasions when she’d agreed to sit down with a shrink, because the school demanded it after one of her mother’s outbursts, or because her job had, they’d tried to convince her that she’d been a victim of her mother’s hatred. But Olivia knew better, always had. And now? She knew victims. Her mother had been victimized by _her,_ day in and day out, a living reminder of her worst nightmare.

Olivia knew victims, but she was not one. And though she told herself over and over in that tunnel, like a mantra, that she was putting herself through this to help Abigail, there was some shriveled part of her soul that wondered if she was trying to become one, if it was finally time to do penance for all that she was, and all that she could never be.

_Let Huang try to sort that one out._ She tried to make light, but it wasn’t funny. Nothing about this was funny, and Olivia let out a strangled sob just as she felt hands grab at her, pulling her through what must have been the end of the tunnel, until she felt her stomach graze against cement.

“Hello, lovely.” It was barely more than a whisper. She might have imagined it were it not for the finger she felt gliding against her cheek. “Crying already? We haven’t even started.” Without warning, he grasped her arm and twisted it behind her back.

She gasped as her muscles protested, kicking blindly at her attacker, but there was no way to tell where he was, no way to defend herself against a monster that had manifested from nothing.

“ _Ol-i-v-ia,_ ” he sing-songed, grabbing her other arm and zip tying it behind her back. “This isn’t about fighting. This is about surrender.”

He hoisted her up, shoving her roughly further into the darkness, one hand clasped around her bound arm.

“I don’t want to. Let me go. I want to go.” They were the words she was supposed to say, the words that would prove she was being held against her will, but they tumbled out from the depths of her soul.

“No, you don’t. You want to know what it feels like,” said the voice, _her own thoughts? A man? Who could be sure._

“I don’t,” less sure this time, even to her own ears. Her legs hit something hard and suddenly he was shoving her into a chair.

She felt the man’s smile against her cheek. _Real. He’s flesh and blood. He can be taken down._ She reminded herself. He was not her own darkest thoughts made manifest.

“You want to hurt on the outside like you do on the inside, Olivia. Admit it. You’ll feel better if you just admit it.” His voice was so gentle, so unlike the pain in her wrists, or the ache in her muscles, so unlike the strain in her lungs as she struggled to take in air.

She shook her head. “I can’t,” she sobbed.

He smacked her hard across the face. The crack of his skin against hers, the pop of her neck, all sounded through the darkness as loud as an alarm. “You do not get to say what happens in here, Olivia. You don’t get to say ‘can’t’ or ‘won’t’ in front of me. Got it?”

Olivia felt herself nodding.

“Good girl. Now, when I show you what pain truly is, what it’s like to surrender to it. You’ll thank me, I promise.” His hands skimmed over her sides, dragging until they pulled the fabric of her shirt up to expose her skin. She felt the heat of his palm against her sweating skin. The heat was alive, a tangible devil driving him forward, forcing her inward. How could she win this fight? She was bound and weak, mentally, emotionally, physically. If she just retreated into herself…

But there was a wire tucked into her bra, something her attacker was perilously close to finding.

“Let go of me!” she shrieked, the words that would send her team running.

But his hands only shifted to the waistband of her jeans. “You do not get to tell me what to do,” his tone was still sweet as syrup, as he drew her zipper down. Olivia threw herself from the chair, landing on top of him on the ground, but her chin had connected with the cement and there were stars in front of her eyes. Still she thrashed against him.

“That’s it, Olivia. Scream and fight. You’ll realize how futile it is, how little power we have in this world.”

He brought his knee between her thighs at the same moment that his forehead connected with her skull. For a moment, white replaced black and a buzzing filled her ears. Vaguely, she could feel his hands pull at her jeans, but sweat and grime had made them like a second skin.

“Stop,” but it had no strength now. Her mind was far away, and it refused to snap back. She felt her stomach roil and wondered for a moment if she might throw up on him. “Please.”

Her attacker just laughed, rolling them so that he was above her. She could feel his breath on her skin, short bursts that let her know that she had winded him.

“I change my mind,” she tried again. “I want to go _home._ ”

Home. The House. The precinct. Her unit and her friends.

Who were coming for her. Who were on their way. She had to trust that. She did trust that. She just had to hold out a little longer.

Olivia kicked until she heard him groan, until he had no choice but to shift position and hold her legs down. She felt his knee digging into her flesh, and she may have cried out, have screamed, or sobbed, but whatever she did was drowned out by the most precious words she’d ever heard.

“Freeze! Police! Put your hands in the air!”

_Freedom._


	3. Elysian…Or as Close as it Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia goes home...and finds out a little of what that means.

“It’s just a concussion,” Olivia tried very hard to glare at the EMTs, but even that movement made her nauseas.

“Humor me, Liv.” Elliot still looked pale, almost as ghostly as he had when the hidden doors had opened to let in the brilliant late afternoon sun and she’d been able to see him. To see him see her.

To see her attacker. Who had, after all, been just another perp, convinced of his own delusions, like all the others.

“I’m fine, El,” she said, though neither of them believed it. She rested a still shaking hand on his arm.

Elliot scrubbed a weary hand over his face. “You should have called us in sooner.” He couldn’t un-see the room. The concrete floor. Olivia covered in dirt, eyes glazed, pinned under that scumbag. She was marginally better now, but he could see the tear tracks that had found their way through the grime on her face. He could hear her sob in his ear. Fin had had to hold him back to keep him from going in then. They didn’t have enough. Liv had been scared and alone, but they hadn’t had enough. She needed to beg. Even with the evidence that she was safe, here with him, he had to fight back the urge to vomit.

“You know I said it as soon as I could.” She fidgeted on the lip of the ambulance, pulling the blanket more securely around her.

“Liv, you know this guy’s out of his mind, don’t you?”

She blinked at him, surprised ( _but was she, really?)_ to feel the fog of tears behind her eyes again. “Yeah,” she whispered hoarsely.

Elliot coughed around a lump in his throat, his own emotions getting the better of him, and Olivia’s tears did fall then, because Elliot Stabler did not cry, or even threaten to. Elliot Stabler hit things, and he yelled, but he didn’t cry. “You don’t deserve to hurt, Liv.”

Olivia cast her eyes up to the sunset. It was a blaze of orange, yellow, purple. Something perfect. Something to get lost in. Then his arms were around her, and she was gripping his shirt without meaning to, and each sob was an ache in her head, but a weight off her heart.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

\---

“Why did you want to go under cover?” Dr. George Huang asked, calmly.

“I did want to help Abigail,” Olivia crossed her arms defensively.

“I know that, Olivia,” he smiled a small smile at her. “Why else did you want to go under cover?”

She picked absently at her nails, her knee bouncing with the force of her nerves. “Because a part of me,” she knew he could hear the tears in her voice, but pushed herself on. She’d promised she would, promised _Elliot_ she would. “Because a part of me believed I deserved it.”

“Deserved what?”

She cleared her throat, smiling in an effort to hold back the tears.

“You’ve been through a lot, recently, Olivia. It’s not a weakness to cry.”

She bit her lip around the smile. “I know,” she said thickly.

“Do you?”

“It’s just that—his victims, Brandon King’s victims (and she was sure there would be more once word of the case got out, once women realized that no piece of paper they ever signed could justify what that son of a bitch had done to them), they didn’t get to walk away like I did. I went home, and I washed off the mood, and I cleaned up the cuts, and here I am. They have to live with what he did for the rest of their lives.”

“So do you,” Huang said reasonably.

She shook her head. “Not like that. He didn’t _rape_ me. He didn’t even really touch me.” _How could it be that after years of having said the word to victims, that word could be so hard for her to say now?_

“I read your report, Olivia. I know that he tied you up. He put his hands on you. He attempted to sexually assault you.”

_Damn him._ He was doing it on purpose, making her face it, making her realize the enormity of it.

“But he didn’t.” And that mattered. That _mattered. Didn’t it?_

“And you feel you would have deserved it if he had?”

“No!” Olivia stood up, almost knocking over the chair in her haste.

But Huang was just looking at her, because he knew. He’d known before she’d ever sat down.

“Maybe,” she conceded, head bowed.

“Why is that, Olivia?”

And because he knew that too, maybe had since the day she’d told him about the circumstances of her birth, she didn’t bother to pretend, or hide her tears this time.

“My mother…”

Brandon had been wrong about so many things in that room, but maybe he’d been right that she needed to hurt a little before she could heal.

\---

Olivia knelt in front of Abigail, grasping the girl’s hand firmly in her own. She’d imagined the horrors of her victim’s stories so many times, even if she hadn’t meant to, always knowing that whatever she pictured could be nowhere near the terror they’d endured. Now, here, she had some idea.

“He’s never going to hurt you again.”

They’d said it to victims hundreds of times, Elliot and Olivia. They meant it each time, though there were those cases where it was an unintentional lie.

Now, Elliot found himself wanting to echo it back to Olivia, though he knew she’d brush it off. She was determined not to be a victim, and determined though he was to keep her from becoming one, he could only guess at the demons she’d been battling with when she went into that room. He wanted to take his partner by the shoulders and remind her of what she already knew, of what the victims that they saw really were, _strong. Survivors. People who had endured unimaginable pain, but had gotten up, and told their stories, and lived their lives despite everything._

Being a victim didn’t make her _less._ He wanted to tell her, but he didn’t think she was ready to hear yet, even if her sessions with Huang seemed to be helping. One day soon, maybe, she would hear him if he said it.

“Even though I signed that thing?” Abigail held a hand to her mouth, hardly believing what she was hearing.

“It doesn’t matter,” Olivia assured her. “You’re safe now.”

And when Abigail flung her arms around Olivia with a vehement, “thank you!” Olivia though she could feel a crack in her soul mending along with the girl’s.

\---

She had some time off, and the sun was still high enough in the sky that it cast a ruby haze around the city. Yet, as Elliot got into the car, she found herself wanting to return to the precinct, to be surrounded by the people who cared about her, the walls that had helped her become who she was today.

It was grey and filled with horrors. It had been the place where some of Olivia’s nightmares had been born, of not being good enough to stop the perps in time, or get justice for the victims. It was also the place of her biggest triumphs, and she was learning to except the dichotomy. She was a good person, and her mother’s torment. She was a strong cop and an emotional person. She was a little bit broken and she had a full life. She loved and hated her work. Two opposites could reside side by side. There was no black-and-white. Huang was trying to teach her, she, for once, was trying to learn.

Maybe, her squad, her family, had been trying to teach her all along. She was listening now. Or, at least, she would try to listen now.

“Liv?” Elliot looked at her, hand on the steering wheel.

“Sorry. What did you say, El?”

“I said, ‘do you want me to drop you home?’”

_Yes._ But not the one he meant.

“I think I’ll ride back with you to the precinct.”

Elliot eyed her suspiciously. “You okay?”

Olivia took a deep breath and smiled at him, a real smile. “Yeah. I think I am.”

And for once, he believed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading. I hope that you enjoyed my little character study. If you did, feel free to review and let me know what you thought.


End file.
